


sleight of my hand, now a quick-pull trigger

by wetpretzel



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetpretzel/pseuds/wetpretzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>drabbles written for ellen to read to her hearts content</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Belle, and The Lost Family

He's eating her crisps, is the first thing Selena notices about him. The crisps she buys _exclusively_ for herself, kept hidden on the very top shelf with a loaded mouse trap in front to ward off any potential thieves (i.e Stefan and Stuart, future convicts). A faint green ring under his eye, that could only have come from the rough kiss of a fist is the second thing she notices. She watches with a shrewd glare as he takes a seat - _her_ seat, she notes bitingly - at the breakfast bar, accepting the beer her brother Steve hands him. 

"Stevie, brother dear, what did Mum tell you about bringing in your stray pets again?" She asks sweetly, stepping further into the kitchen, eyes focused entirely on her migraine inducing brother. 

Steve sneers at the nickname, elbow jerking out to hit her in the stomach as she passes him en-route to the fridge. "Might wanna cut back on the dairy there, sis," nodding towards the cheese string she has in her grasp, "your stripper shorts weren't designed with pot bellies in mind." 

"And your XXS vests weren't designed with tits in mind either but that doesn't appear to be stopping you from drinking your 'roid shakes each morning," she replies without a beat, tossing the packaging into the bin without a second glance. 

Crisps Thief chokes on a snort, but quickly pulls back his amused expression when Steve glares viciously at him. Selena feels her phone buzz in her pocket, as she turns to the cupboard to fetch a glass. Pulling her phone out, she stiffens reading the text. Her mouth pulls into a thin grim line. 

"Sweetcorn on the menu tonight, Stevie," she says brightly, shoving her phone back into her pocket and turning back to face her brother. 

Steve tenses briefly, before letting his body sag in a silent sigh. "Fine," he replies tersely, taking a small swig of his beer.

Selena nods once at him, turning on her heel to stalk out of the kitchen - but not before swiping _her_ crisps out of the thief's hands.  She doesn't notice the curious gaze following her out the room. 

 

xx

 

"Bloody retail! Bloody boss! Bloody customer is always _bloody_ right!" Selena huffs, plopping down onto her seat, her head falling to smack against the counter. 

"Good day at work?" Star* chimes from the stove, mixing in _godknowswhat_ to the stew bubbling in the pot. 

Selena huffs again, relishing in the cool feel of the worktop against her raging temples. "Don't make me tit-twist you," she grumbles, her voice muffled against the counter. She listens to the sound of Star*'s gentle humming as she cooks, matching her breathing to the slow pace of the wooden spoon in the pot. 

Eventually, she pulls herself up, palms coming up to rest against her chin as she watches her sister cook. "Got another complaint today."

"How many strikes is that now?"

"Seven."

Star* snorts. "Good thing your manager doesn't play baseball," she teases gently, stepping away from the stove to come round and run her fingers soothingly through Selena's hair. 

Selena closes her eyes for a moment, or two, letting the tingly sensation of her sister's nails against her scalp trickle down her spine. "Apparently it goes against staff policy to jab creepy, groping customers with a clothes hanger. Something about it being ' _assault'_ ," she rolls her eyes, grimacing as the image of that hormonal seventeen year old boy pinching her arse springs to mind. 

Star* purses her lips, in obvious displeasure at the thought of her sister attacking someone with a hanger. "You know mum's connections can only get us so far, you have to be more careful, Sel."

Selena scoffs, pulling away from Star*'s embrace, and hops down from the stool to grab a water from the fridge. "Please. Like mummy dearest has even noticed you and I have jobs." She grimaces to herself, turning her head to the side to avoid her sister's stare. 

"What's with the extra plate?" Selena nods towards the stack resting on the counter. 

"Chris is upstairs with Ste, again," Star* replies, the corner of her lip downturned into a frown, her feelings about _that_ little friendship apparently clear. The pot begins to bubble, and Star* gasps, rushing over to reduce the heat to a simmer, spoon in her other hand to ensure nothing has stuck to the pot. 

Selena snorts in amusement. "He still hanging round with Sideshow Bob?"

"Don't call him that, Selena," Star* scorns lightly, but Selena notices the grin threatening to break her look of concentration. "He asked about you, you know."

Selena cocks an eyebrow at her. 

"Wanted to know if the, and I quote, 'angry goth' would be joining us this evening," Star* sent a curious glance her way. "Anything you want to tell me?"

Selena scoffs again, leaning forward to flick her fingers against Star*'s forehead. "Yeah," she says, grabbing her water bottle, "we need bigger mouse traps." 

 

XX

 

"Shh!" Selena scolds the lamp that had the _audacity_ to fall to the floor with a resounding crash. "People're sleeeeepin," she tuts to herself, blindly guiding herself through the dark living room, furniture camouflaged by the blanket of night. She rests one hand against the armchair as she reaches down to pull off her boots, tossing them to the other side of the room where the shoe rack is. Possibly. She may have just thrown them into the fireplace instead. 

Climbing the three flights of stairs to her room does not sound too appealing to her right now - not whilst she's crashing heavily on whatever it was Aaron handed her at the club. She lets her shoulder bag slip down her arm onto the carpet and falls back over the armchair, curling into the plush cushion, and sighs deeply. 

"Rough night?"

Selena lets out a shriek, tumbling off the chair in shock, landing with a hard thud against the floor. She groans, clutching at the back of her head, her vision blurring more than it already was. 

"Shit!" The intruder curses, and she hears rushing footsteps coming closer towards her. Her stomach clenches and she fights the urge to vomit. Being drunk and high - and now slightly disorientated - does not mix well with defending oneself against burglars. 

"You better back the fu- _hiccup_! the fu- _hiccup_! the hell away from me!" She warns weakly, secretly wishing she'd just left her boots next to her bag; combat boots would make an excellent weapon right now. 

The stranger lets out an amused snort, and she glares into the darkness. "Right, because you're clearly a formidable threat in your current state. How about I close my eyes and count to twenty, you know, give you a head start?"

Shit, and double motherfucking shit. She knows that smug drawl tone of voice anywhere. "What the fuck are you doing here, Chris? Daddy not filed a missing persons yet?"

The str- Chris, lets out another snort and comes forward, reaching out a hand to pull her up to stand relatively steady on her feet. She grumbles, sloppily pushing away his hands, and takes a shaky step backwards.

"You're welcome," he snides.

She ignores him in favour of reaching over to turn on one of the lamps. She winces as the soft glow fills the room, blinking rapidly to adjust to the brightness before turning around to face the man who so rudely kept her from sleep. He's facing her, arms crossed, the corner of his lip turned upwards in a clear lick of amusement at her current state.

Bastard.

She goes back to her chair, snuggling into a comfy position before looking up at him, lifting one eyebrow up at him in scrutiny. "So?"

Chris takes a beat to sit in the chair opposite hers, shuffling around until he deems himself comfortable - Selena resists the urge to grind her teeth - before returning the one worded question back at her.

Selena sneers. "What are you doing here? Better yet, what are you doing here at four thirty in the bloody morning?" 

"Teleshopping prime time," he replies solemnly.

She turns her head to the switched off TV briefly, before looking back at him. Her eyebrow lifts higher. 

Chris just grins at her, bright and warm - she might even be charmed if he wasn't so arse-over-tit annoying. "Rough night?" he asks again. 

"And what business is it yours?" She snaps back.

"It's not," he shrugs, that cheshire cat grin sneaking back onto his face again. "Inquiring minds want to know."

"You mean you actually have a brain?" Selena feigns surprise. "And here I thought you were powered by weed and Monster drinks."

"So you've thought about me?" Chris smirks, lips pursing out in a tut. "Nice to know it's mutual then."

Selena rolls her eyes and she sneers at him again. "Don't flatter yourself," she mutters, reaching forward to grab the remote off the coffee table and switching on the TV. She quickly lowers the volume with a curse as some bog-standard american cop show theme song sounds out around the room. 

They half-watch the show in silence, Selena blatantly ignoring the curious looks he keeps sending her way. A hand creeps up to self consciously rub her cheeks - maybe that girl she necked on at the club got some of her lipstick on her. 

"Does Ste know you're down here?" She speaks up during an advert break. 

Chris shrugs, arms stretched in the air as he stifles a yawn. "Probably not, he seemed pretty into his dream when I left. Not the most comfortable experience lying next to your mate whose having a sex dream." He grimaces. 

Selena lets out a snigger. Well _there's_ new material to mock Steve about. Her mouth opens in a wide yawn, her eyes drooping down with sleep. She blearily looks at the clock above the fireplace, and notes it's just gone five in the morning. She internally whines at the thought of only getting a few hours sleep before the rugrats: new generation come beating down the stairs for morning cartoons. 

She feels Chris's eyes on her again, as she mumbles sleepily to herself, shuffling down further in her chair, fully intending on sleeping there for the remainder of the night. She thinks she hears him get up and leave the room, but her head is pounding and her eyelids are tingling so she's not all that confident about her other senses right now. 

She hears the sound of a glass against the coffee table and she forces her eyes open to see a glass of water and a box of paracetamol placed in front of her. 

"Wanted to make sure you got in okay," Chris murmurs, and Selena knows he doesn't mean for her to hear that over the sound of that annoying car insurance jingle. 

She lets out another yawn and turns around, her back now facing Chris, and falls asleep before the advert is even over. 

When she wakes barely three hours later, to the squawking sound of Serenity and Stefan fighting over the remote, her water is warm and flat, her mouth tastes like cardboard, and Chris is long gone.

 

xx

 

"Don't you ever bloody go home?" Is the first thing Selena says when she sees Chris sat in the kitchen, his back to her - thankfully not in her seat, he learned that lesson fairly quickly. 

"Now why would I ever do such a thing when I know your lovely face isn't there?" Chris coos, turning to face her. She barely manages to force back the gasp in her throat when she sees the state of his face. His top lip is split in a painfully sore gash, red and puffy, and there's dried blood dotted all around his nose. One of his eyes is violently purple, but the lack of swelling, and faint ring of healing green on his brow bone indicates that perhaps _that_ injury isn't as recent as his lip. 

"What door did you piss off this time?" She asks grimly, thinking back to all the other times he's used the cliche excuse. 

Chris hums, bringing the pack of frozen peas up to his nose, not quite quick enough to hide the painful wince as he does. "The cage fighting kind, evidently," he half-heartedly chuckles back to her with a wink of his good eye. Selena huffs, walking past him to grab the first-aid kit from underneath the kitchen sink. 

"You need to sterilise your lip before you go putting ice on it," she says, coming to sit in the seat next to him, gently grabbing the packet of peas and setting it down on the countertop. 

He grinned at her, eyes tracking her hands' movements as she pulled out the alcohol wipes from the box. "Well look at you, all bedside manner," he bats his lashes at her, "who knew you had it in yo- OW!" he yelps as Selena wipes under his nose forcefully. "Fuck!" 

Selena tsks, feigning sympathy. "Oh yeah, it may sting," she says belatedly, resisting the urge to smirk as he glares at her. "Where's Steve? Isn't it against Bro Code to leave your buddy high and dry?"

"He's grabbing me a clean shirt," he nods down to his own blood stained tee. He shuts up quickly, letting Selena wipe away the blood as best she can without knocking into his split lip. She can feel his eyes on her face as she works and she swallows dryly, refusing to let herself blush under his intense gaze. 

"Got your shirt, mate," Steve says, bursting through the kitchen doors, pausing when he sees the two of them together. He cocks an eyebrow. "Am I missing something here?"

Selena scowls at her brother as she pulls away, throwing the bloodied wipe into the bin. She washes her hands in the sink, flicking the excess water at Steve, who grunts, batting away from her. 

"Bloody piss off!"

Selena smirks at him, before turning to Chris, who is in the middle of changing into the top Steve brought down for him. She grimaces when she catches herself staring at his hipbones. 

"Star* is better at this nurse crap than me," she nods to Chris, who's back to nursing the pea pack to his nose. "She's in the study," she finishes, turning on her heel. She needs to shower. 

"Where you off to?" Steve calls after her.

"Have a date," she throws over her shoulder. Selena hears Chris yelp, and then a low groan as the sound of frozen peas hits the kitchen tiles. 

"You're cleaning that up, bud," is the last thing she hears Steve say before she reaches the stairs. 

 

xx

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Gonna be coming in hot in about two seconds, mate," Steve warns, hands sweaty from the grip of the controller. 

Paul sneers, pushing down on the thumb stick. "Make that about seven or eight," he snickers, watching on the map as their dots spread further apart. 

Gritting his teeth, Steve straightens his posture, and mimics Paul's movements. Bloody, smug  _prick_. "Oh come off it, Paulie," he snickers as Paul scowls at the nickname, "Didja forget we're supposed to be bloody _partners_ in this?"

"Till death parts us," Paul replies solemnly, jerking to his left to avoid the swat Steve throws his way.

"Then do your mother- _bloody-fucking job_ , you knob," Steve grits out. 

"Anything for you, deary," coos Paul, releasing his thumb from the stick. 

The conversations lulls between them, and the squawking shrieks of the kids from the playroom downstairs echoes through the floors, an unpleasant cohesion against the game's soundtrack. 

"Shagged your Mrs' yet?" Paul asks as the cars enter the southern district. 

Steve snickers. "Constantly. I'm over there right now, my presence here is merely your imagination," he smarts back. He lets out a yelp as a van crosses his path, and quickly swerves to the right. He may or may not have just ran over a pedestrian or two. Or six. 

Oh well. 

"What about you?"

"I'm not interested in your sloppy seconds. Or thirds, technically, since she's already got her first around her ring finger."

Quick as a whip, Steve reaches over to whack Paul over the head. "No, you tit, any birds caught your eye lately?" 

Paul shrugs, his jaw tensing slightly. 

Steve eyes him in the corner of his vision. Oh bloody hell. Is this- "Something you wanna talk about?" he finishes aloud. 

Chewing on his bottom lip, Paul merely shrugs, reaching down to take a swig of his beer that rests between their legs. "Nothing that would interest you, Stevie," he dismisses, elegantly swerving around the corner of a multiplex. 

"Told you to bloody well  _slow down_ ," Steve mutters under his breath, quickly following his path. There's silence for a moment, or two, before Ste carries on. "So who is she?"

"Who?"

"The bird that's giving you major chapped lips," Steve eyes his painfully chewed up lips, and coughs, hiding a wince. 

Paul turns to him, cocking an eyebrow, his eyes wide in fake awe. "Gonna lend me your extensive collection of lip care products?"

"Stuff it," Ste snaps back. 

Paul snickers, before shrugging again. "It's nothing important. Let's just finish the mission, yeah?" There's an underlining threat of ' _drop it_ '. 

Ste's never really been good with threats. 

"She off the market? Lezzie? Ginger? Younger? Older? You worried about being a cradle robb-" Steve trails off, looking over at him, a mix of suspicion and horror on his face. "I swear down, mate, if you're thinking about going near any of my sisters-"

"What? No!" Paul cuts him off, eyes wide in panic. He certainly wouldn't risk his balls a _second_ time. Who knew prissy, uptight Eldest Sibling packed such a punch? 

Unfortunately, Paul did. 

As if reading his thoughts, Steve throws him a leer. "You know Selena has an even harder punch," he grins, "In fact, pretty sure she was given a set of knuckledusters over Christmas last year, and she's just _dying_ to try them out." 

Paul shifts restlessly, dropping a colourful string of curses when the controller slips from his grip, his car crashing into a lamppost. "I told you, just drop-"

"If it's not one of my sisters, then how bad can it be? Unless you're thinking about sticking it to one of your teachers..." he trails off, his eyes alight, as if a light bulb has switched on. He pauses the game, and leans over, a glint in his eye. 

"Or..." He stretches the sound out, "It's not a she?"

The smallest twitch of his mate's jaw confirms his suspicions. Oh. 

 _Oh_. 

This is not how he was expecting Weekly Game Night to go. Well bloody fuck. 

"Alright, then who is he?" 

Paul relaxes ever so slightly. "Shouldn't we be putting on face masks and braiding each other's hair before you ask me this?" he mocks, taking a rather hearty gulp of his drink. 

Steve punches him in the shoulder, ignoring the indignant choking sounds Paul gasps out. "Don't let my sisters hear you say that shit, unless you truly want to be a Eunuch," they both shudder at the thought. 

Rubbing at the small ache in his shoulder, Paul glares at his friend, letting out a huff of indignation. "It's not- there isn't... It's just, I..." he rambles, trying to give himself time to collect the thoughts in his head. He gives another shrug. "I've just been thinking about it lately, is all," he dismisses, really not wanting to go too deep - _hah_ \- into it. 

"Is all," Steve parrots, his shoulders deflating slightly. Honestly. He paused GTA for ' _is all_ '? "So what's the big deal? So you're a little curious, it's not the end of the world."

"I know that," Paul rolls his eyes, "No need for the It Gets Better spiel- OW! Would you stop fucking hitting me, you _twat_ ," he huffs, whacking him in the chest. "Honestly, and you wonder why I didn't tell you about this sooner." 

"I've thought about it," Steve offers up, tactically ignoring the look of disbelief shot his way. Cheeky sod. "It's like a rite of passage, innit?"

"Ah yes, buying your first lottery ticket, your first drivers lesson, your first beer, sexual identity crisis, and then a key to your first house," Paul rattles off the list on his fingers. "Must have missed the memo in PSHE." He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. 

"No need to be all prissy, I got enough oestrogen fuelled dramatics in my life, I don't need you adding to that," Steve teases, leaning in to nudge his shoulder. "So who's the lucky bloke who's been helping you warm your crisis bed? Is he fitter than me?"

Paul bats his eyelashes. "No one's prettier than you," he coos, ducking his head to hide the flush creeping onto his cheeks. 

Steve pauses for a moment. And then another moment. "Paulie, have you ever even kissed a bloke?"

 "Um," Paul coughs, shifting in his seat again. "Not technically."

Steve cocks an eyebrow, a silent gesture for him to continue. 

"Well shotgunning doesn't really count does it? I mean, not much lip to lip action," he coughs, scowling inwardly as he feels the tips of his ears heat up in embarrassment. "Besides, s'not like there's many lads lining up at my door wanting to explore the Kinsey Scale." 

They sit in silence for a bit, letting Paul's words digest in the air between them. 

Steve lets out a heavy hearted sigh, eventually, and barely manages to restrain the snicker as Paul jumps at the sudden noise. "Fine. I was saving myself for Aaron Paul, but if you're going to be such a whiny petal about it." 

"What- _oomfph,_  " Paul's cut off by the rough feel of Steve's lips against his, and his eyes widen in shock. What in the ever loving fuck-

It's certainly... different from the kisses he's shared with his exes. For one, there's no icky gloss tacking into his mouth. It's awkward, the angles jilted, and the scratch of his friend's stubble against his chin itches like a bastard. Neither has made an effort to deepen the kiss, their lips simply pressed together in an uncomfortable manner. 

Steve pulls away after a few more motionless seconds, the awkwardness too rich for him to handle. He clears his throat, ducking his head to hide the embarrassed redness of his cheeks. 

Paul's posture remains stiff, his lips ever so slightly redder than they were a minute ago, and he's looking at him in - disgust? Appreciation? It's hard to tell, and Steve's ready to just call off the rest of the game, and them both depart in a very firm and quick goodbye.

"Well," Paul croaks out, his tongue flicking out to wet his abused lip. "No wonder your ex girlfriends dumped you. You're a shite kisser, mate."

And with that, the stiff air between them breaks, and they both let out loud, painful snorts of amusement. 

"Here's hoping you never meet Aaron Paul, poor bastard will be more traumatised than Pinkman in five years of Breaking Bad," Paul sniggers, reaching for his beer to wash away the- the taste of his friend's lips against his. Oh bloody hell. 

"Well you lost your gay kiss virginity, so you're welcome, you ungrateful twat," Steve replies, reaching for the controller to unpause the game. 

"Yeah, and you may have scarred me against ever trying with a more... eligible connoisseur of same sex kissing," Paul teases in mock horror, "What if my soulmate is a dude and he never finds me because your sandpaper lips turned me off boys for life?" He brings his hand up to his chest, clutching at invisible pearls, like he's seen his nan do many times in his youth. "Why would you do that to me?" 

"What happened to us being partners, till death parts us?" Steve throws back, grinning as they continue on with their near-forgotten heist. 

Paul mutters illegibly under his breath, far more occupied with how Steve is suddenly ahead of him on the track. 

"Oh, and Paul?" Steve pipes up after another five minutes. 

"Yeah?"

"No homo."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
